


Of a Soft Manner

by veiledndarkness



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:16:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veiledndarkness/pseuds/veiledndarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl can't help but notice her hands. Written for the twd_kinkmeme on Livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of a Soft Manner

It’s the way her hands look in the dim lighting that draws his attention. 

Being confined to the bedroom, told in no uncertain terms that he was not to be up and moving around any time soon, he can only lay there, his weary body sinking into the softest mattress he can ever recall while he lists his errors from that day in his head. 

He thinks that with the pain coursing through his body and the way the antibiotics dull his senses that it’s a wonder he can focus at all when she enters the room, bearing a tray of food for him. 

It’s when she leans down, the tips of her fingers brushing over his forehead, lingering near the bullet graze marring his skin, that’s when he blinks and jerks away from her gentle touch.

Her fingertips are soft in the dim light and he can see that her palms are smooth as well. No calluses, no chafed, rough skin, just a smoothness that makes his throat click dryly. There’s no violence in those hands, no angry, abrupt motions and he hates the way he wants to lean into her touch, the way he wants to feel those soft fingers cup his cheek. 

She leans back, speaking in those soft tones that make him want to shy away despite his gruffness, and tells him what he doesn’t want to hear, that’s he’s as good as Rick or Shane and he thinks he can’t possibly be, not when he’s failed her by not finding Sophia yet, not when he’s thinking about her hands touching him instead of thinking about new sections of the forest to check for her lost child.

She gives him that little smile of hers, that timid smile that’s more sad than happy, and he thinks he ought to say something, but he forces himself to look away from her before he does something foolish, like thinking about something that’s not meant to be his. 

And when he closes his eyes and finally drifts off to sleep, he dreams of her, dreams of the way her hands would feel.


End file.
